


Mad for You

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, it's probably his own fault for not keeping track of his schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad for You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Wow. What am I posting.  
> Here, take this, it's probably the closest thing to porn I'll ever write.  
> I don't think this really counts as dub-con-- it's supposed to all be very consensual-- but if anybody is concerned by it, let me know and I'll add it to the tags.

Tony doesn’t realize what’s happening until the elevator doors slide closed and suddenly he feels crowded and overheated and he just _really really really_ wants to jump Steve’s bones.

Well.

More than usual.

Shit. He knew the suppressants would only work for so long, but right as he got into a fucking elevator with an alpha? Is the universe fucking _serious?_ Tony knows Steve would never take advantage of him. Guy’s got self control like _whoa_. What Tony is very much _less_ certain of is _his_ ability not to fucking throw himself at Steve and _beg_.

Going into heat _sucks_.

“Hey,” he says, through gritted teeth. Steve glances over at him-- then his gaze lingers, his face flickering between concern and confusion.

“Tony--?”

“I just want you to know that you absolutely do not have to do anything, and this is my fault for not keeping track better, and--” Something slick starts a slow trickle down the back of his legs. Tony swallows, hard. “And you don’t have to take responsibility if you don’t. Want to.”

“Tony, you’re not--” Steve makes a strangled noise of lust and horror, even as Tony’s legs start trembling. _He_ can’t smell the pheromones, but Steve must be-- “Oh my God. Just, just-- hold on, I’ll get you up to your room, don’t worry, I won’t-- I won’t let anyone touch you-- you’re gonna be fine, okay? You’ll be fine.”

“Yeeeeep,” Tony gasps, slumping against the wall of the elevator when his legs start to give out. Steve makes a little noise of alarm and takes a step towards him that he aborts halfway there; because he doesn’t trust himself to get that close or because he doesn’t know whether Tony trusts him to get that close, Tony’s not sure.

This is the precise moment the elevator gives a tremendous _creeeeak_ and shudders to a halt, lights briefly flickering before going off.

For a moment, they’re both silent in the dim glow of the emergency lights.

“I hate my life,” Tony whimpers. He lets his body sag to the floor, breathing becoming labored. He just-- he just _needs_ , all the sudden, he’s so wet and ready for it and there’s an alpha _right there_ \--

“JARVIS?” Steve calls, uncertainly. There is no response. “Shit. What--”

“Power’s out,” Tony grinds out. “Prob’ly. Just the elevator. Not the whole building.”

“You think it’s foul play?” Steve worries.

“If it’s-- the whole building-- and arc reactors have a tendency of-- of shutting off on their own, unprovoked, I’m gonna have a p-problem.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Steve says, fiercely, and suddenly he’s crouching between Tony’s spread legs, cradling his face in his hands. “ _Don’t_.”

“Steve,” Tony whines, arching up into the touch. “If-- if you’re gonna be _this close_ right now, y-you’d better be planning on--”

Steve is on the other side of the elevator before he can even finish. Admittedly, this is maybe four feet away, tops, but Tony still wants to cry out of frustration.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Steve murmurs, voice low and soothing and _arousing_ , God _dammit_. “I’ll get you out of here okay, I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t do anything to you. You’ll be alright.”

Tony nearly wails, because he _wants_ Steve to _do something_ to him, he wants to be fucked out of his _mind_ , and Steve is promising _not to touch him_.

He curls in on himself in the corner and settles himself in for a very, _very_ long afternoon.

 

Fifty-nine minutes later, the lights come back on, accompanied by an alarmed “Sir!”

“JARVIS, thank God,” Tony hiccups, jerking his head upright to stare with wide, desperate eyes at the camera. “Penthouse floor, now, no stops, I don’t care who’s waiting on us to see if we’re alright--”

Steve’s in the opposite corner from him, by now, pinching his nose and breathing through his mouth in an attempt to ignore the pheromones ( _Tony can tell it’s not working_ ), but his hand drops and his head jerks up, an expression of profound relief on his face.

“Sir, Ms.Potts is very concer--”

“Ms.Potts can wait, JARVIS, _hurry_ ,” Steve pleads. Tony feels a surge of hurt-- _why doesn’t Steve want him?_ \-- that he promptly crushes, and assures himself it was only the hormones talking. Thinking. Whatever.

The elevator doors slide open on the penthouse level, and Steve is up and out the door before Tony has time to blink.

“Sir,” JARVIS prods.

“Gimme a minute,” Tony growls, grabbing for the bar on the wall to haul himself to his feet. His knees give out on him again, and he slams his head back against the wall in frustration. “God fucking _damn_ it!”

“Tony?” Steve calls, from somewhere in the penthouse. Tony listens to the first few hesitant footsteps before they take up a faster, more determined pace, and Steve is in front of him again. “Why aren’t you--”

“Can’t stand,” Tony mutters, humiliated, curling up in the corner again. “Legs won’t hold.”

There’s a pause.

“The fuck!” Tony yelps, finding himself airborne. He scrambles to get a hold on something. _Something_ ends up being Steve, who has picked him up ( _in a bridal carry, but Tony has more important things to worry about than such embarrassments right now_ ), and as soon as Tony’s body registers his proximity to the alpha-- well.

“Hi,” he all but purrs, nuzzling up against a flushed Steve. Steve’s grip momentarily tightens.

“I’m just gonna get you to your bedroom, Tony, okay?”

Bedroom? Bedroom. Bed. Steve.

Bed and Steve.

Mmm.

“Very okay,” Tony murmurs, into the side of Steve’s neck, and Steve makes a hitched little keening sound and walks faster.

“Captain Rogers, should I--” JARVIS starts, sounding hesitant.

“I’m not,” Steve gasps, sounding strained. “I’m not gonna-- JARVIS, please, what do I do, I can’t--”

Tony finds himself tumbled onto the bed, and then Steve is trying to pull away and _no!_ Tony whines, trying to tug Steve back down with him. Steve’s eyes are so dilated Tony can barely see the blue of his irises, and he’s flushed in such an attractive way, and Tony actually _can_ smell how aroused he is now, why is he still resisting? Why is he resisting at all?

Does he not want Tony?

Tony can’t help the upset little whimper he makes.

“JARVIS,” Steve begs, voice wavering.

“You would not be taking advantage of him, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS says, gently.

“How would I not--”

“Please,” Tony mumbles, tugging at Steve’s shirt again.

“Tony,” Steve groans, trying to pry him off. “But he said-- in the elevator he said he didn’t want--”

“So far as I observed, before the power was lost, Mr.Stark specified that it was _you_ he was concerned of lacking in consent.”

“Me? But--”

“Pleeease,” Tony tries again. He _yanks_ this time, and the hurt ebbs a little when Steve actually comes closer this time, one knee up in the bed, leaning over Tony.

“You’re sure?” he whispers, one trembling hand sweeping some of Tony’s hair out of his eyes.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony breathes.

“Captain,” JARVIS says. “I understand your reluctance in the given circumstances, but I assure you, you have his full consent.”

“But it’s just the hormones talking,” Steve tries, starting to _pull away again, no, why is he doing that why why why no_. Tony nearly wails, hiccups instead. “Tony, Tony, shhh--”

“I assure you, Captain,” JARVIS repeats, almost dryly. “Mr.Stark’s interest extends beyond biology.”

Steve pauses, expression almost-- shy. “It does?”

“It truly does, Captain,” JARVIS confirms. “Perhaps when things have settled down a bit, you might ask him to show you what his new project in the garage is.”

“I’ll do that,” Steve murmurs, finally, _finally_ lowering himself to the bed, propped up over Tony on his elbows. “Tony? Are you _sure_ you’re okay with this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony says, almost tying his tongue up in knots trying to get it out as fast as he can. “Yes, yes, yes, _please_. _Steve_.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, letting his body drape over Tony’s like a blanket. Tony immediately wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, trying to thrust up against him, get some friction, encouragement, anything, _everything_ , but Steve just makes soothing little shushing noises, pressing them into his lips. “Okay, shhhh, shhh shh. It’s okay, Tony, I’ve got you, I’m gonna take such good care of you...”

 

When Tony wakes up, he aches in all the best ways.

He stares at his own ceiling for a second, confused-- since when has he ever slept in his own room? Since when has he woken up feeling warm and lazy and satiated in his own room? But there’s a damp washcloth on the nightstand, and the smell of something fucking _delicious_ wafting in from-- somewhere, probably his kitchen, and someone is _whistling_ , who the hell whistles anymore?

Steve does.

Tony blinks.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, throat tightening, “Oh my god, oh my _god--”_

“Sir?” JARVIS tries to prompt, alarmed, but Tony’s already wrapped himself in a blanket and is staggering out of the bedroom, frantically searching for Steve. He’s not really that hard to find-- Tony just follows the smell of bacon-- and he’s standing there in the middle of the kitchen, wearing nothing but his boxers, prodding at the stove every once in a while. Tony hovers in the doorway, unsure, trying to get his jaw to work. Steve saves him the trouble by glancing over his shoulder and gracing Tony with a gentle smile.

“Good morning. You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, weakly, stumbling a couple feet further into the kitchen. Steve looks-- goddamn it, Steve looks _happy_ , like maybe Tony _didn’t_ take advantage of him with hormones and pheromones and stupid, shitty biology. Like maybe Tony won’t have to apologize, and promise he’ll leave the team so Steve doesn’t feel uncomfortable, even though Tony thinks he might actually _die_ if he can’t be Iron Man.

“Good,” Steve’s smile goes a little sheepish. “Because I kind of made a _lot_.”

Tony ventures a few feet further still, and sees a pile of toast, a pan of eggs and another pan of bacon. It smells _heavenly_.

“Steve?” he finally manages to say, voice coming out-- _much_ smaller and quieter than he intended it to. Stupid. He sounds like he’s _afraid_. Obviously he’s not afraid of _anything_ , he’s _Tony Stark_ , he’s _Iron Man_ \--

“Are you okay?” Steve is saying, putting down his spatula with a concerned little frown. He steps in closer to Tony. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No!” Tony says, hurriedly, and in his distraction completely fails to resist when Steve catches the edge of his blanket and reels him in, arms settling around his waist with his head resting on Steve’s shoulder. “No, I just-- you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Steve gently steers them backwards, until he can sit down in one of the chairs, bringing Tony with him to curl up in his lap. He strokes one hand through Tony’s hair. “Why would I be mad?”

“‘Cause I cornered you into fucking me,” Tony mumbles, into Steve’s neck. Steve makes a noise of disbelief, body draining of tension Tony hadn’t even realized he had.

“Tony, if I managed not to take you in the elevator, do you really think you were _forcing_ me into it by the time we got up _here?_ With all the exits?”

“Prolonged exposure to pheromones,” Tony tries, then makes a muffled noise of surprise when Steve kisses the words off his lips, brief and chaste. He tries to opening his mouth to talk again, but Steve just kisses him quiet, does it again when he tries again, cuddles him close and peppers his face with kisses.

“JARVIS said-- well, he made it sound like you _liked_ me,” Steve murmurs, against Tony’s temple. “And Tony-- I _love_ you. All the hormones in the world couldn’t have made me fuck you if I thought you didn’t want it, but _I_ definitely wanted it.”

Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and buries his face under the soldier’s jaw.

“But you were okay with it?” Steve checks, voice pitched low and soothing. The hand not cradling the back of Tony’s head rubs comforting circles into his hip. “Consensual all-around?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Tony mutters. He has no excuse for the way his voice hiccups. “Of course I was _okay_ with it, stupidface.”

“Hey, now,” Steve chuckles, a bright, relieved sound. “My face isn’t stupid.”

No, it really isn’t. If Tony was actually going to go for accuracy, he would probably go with something more along the lines of _hotter than the desert sun_ or _ridiculously endearing and adorable_ , the second one of which _should_ be mildly disconcerting except Tony’s come to _terms_ with the fact that he doesn’t just want a quick fuck, not with Steve. He wants _snuggles_. And _dates_ , and spending time with Steve just for the sake of spending time with Steve, and necking on the couch on movie nights. And he’d resigned himself to getting _none of those_.

“Go save your dumb breakfast,” he says, instead of any of that.

He thinks he might has well have, if the blinding smile Steve gives him as he stands up is any indication.

Halfway through the meal, Steve ventures, “So... are we mates now?”

Tony nearly drops his toast.

“Um,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Steve assures him, hurriedly. “You can say no, if you-- if that’s not what you want.”

“No, I--” Tony swallows. “I want-- I want that. A lot. If you do.”

“Of course I do,” Steve laughs. He puts down his fork and holds his arms out. “Come here.”

Tony scrambles out of his chair to settle in Steve’s lap again, ankles locked at the small of his back. Steve gives him a chaste, open-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of egg yolk and orange juice.

“I love you,” Steve mumbles, against his lips. “I want everything you’re willing to give to me.”

“That’s because you’re nuts,” Tony informs him. “You could do about five billion times better, you know that, right?”

“Agree to disagree,” Steve says, on a breathy chuckle.

“The team’s going to make fun of us when we tell them.”

“Maybe. They won’t mean it, though.” Steve steals another kiss. “I think they’ll be happy for us.”

“The press will go batshit over us.”

“It’s a good thing you have so much experience avoiding them, then.”

“I’m a workaholic, and I’m bad at real relationships, and--”

Steve kisses him soundly. Tony lets himself be cut off.

“Tony,” he murmurs, when he’s done, “Can we please try?”

“I told you I want to,” Tony grumbles. “Just, you should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“We’ll work it out,” Steve says. “Don’t worry.”

Well, Tony thinks, surrendering himself to Steve’s kisses, at the very least they’ll go out with a _bang_.

 


End file.
